Jo Danville - A profile
by Leslie Emm
Summary: In response to Smuffly's who/what/where challenge. I got Jo Danville, a pair of shoes and a junkyard. Contains sensitive issues, hence rating M. Please leave a review :)


Jo Danville – A profile 

_This is part of the who/what/where challenge set by Smuffly. It has kind of taken on a life of it's own from me first getting my challenge of Jo Danville, a pair of shoes and a junkyard. Please leave a review! :)_

…...

So here I am, Detective Jo Danville, assistant to Mac Taylor, head of the New York crime lab. Ex FBI agent, and ex wife. Mother of two wonderful children, daughter of slightly eccentric mother.

That's me, Jo Danville, and currently I am in the middle of a junkyard in my best cocktail dress and 4 inch heels. Not the night I had planned, but by the looks of it, the night I am going to get. Slowly I open the door of the department allocated avalanche and look down at the sea of mud in dismay.

_How the hell am I going to get from here to the back for my boots and coveralls?_

I turn my head a fraction as I hear a low whistle and a soft chuckle. Knew it. Detective Don Flack, over 6 feet, packing some muscles and blue eyes to die for. Attitude to burn and a smart ass comment or two that never fails to make you smile.

"Lookin' good there Ms Danville"

"I like to dress for the occasion" I smile back.

"You might want some boots" he pulls a face "It's kinda yucky in there" he nods towards the muss of mud and abandoned cars before us.

"Yucky?" I raise an eyebrow "That a technical term?"

"Of course" he bows slightly, grinning.

"I have some in the back" I give him my best appealing look "And coveralls"

"Kinda hoped you'd leave off the coveralls" he jokes. If it were any other detective, I'd give them the 'look' - the back off while you still have your balls look, but not Don. This is just his sense of humour, he has a tough job, first on scene after the uni's and it's his decision about what happens from there. He's had a tough time by all accounts, in his past. He likes to lighten the atmosphere.

"What we got?" I ask him.

"Dead child" at once the jokey exterior is gone, replaced by the no nonsense cop "Some kids were playing in here, found the body among some wrecks, looks about 5 years to me"

I sigh deeply, I hate cases like this "Any ID?"

"None" he replies in a flat tone "The kids don't know who he is. I sent a picture to the lab"

"Five year old gone missing" I reply "Why isn't he on every front page and milk carton?"

"Not everyone has a mom like you Jo" he replies sadly.

"Better get started then" I mutter, Don frowns as me and takes pity on my plight, seeing the heels that have no chance against the mud.

Wordlessly he goes to the back and retrieves my boots and coveralls.

…...

I lean over the small body, he's still warm. Little face puckered in fear, frozen that way forever. I hear another vehicle and look up, seeing Dr Sheldon Hawkes emerge from another avalanche. I think they're aptly named, these department transports, avalanche. That's what you feel like you're under sometimes when you pull into a crime scene.

He hops and dances his way across to me. I say hops and dances as that's what he does. Sheldon cannot set off at a flat run, or a fast walk. He skips into pace. Gives the watcher the impression that he's impatient to be away, like he's holding his body back from the release of energy it desperately needs.

"Jo" he says, head slightly bowed as if in prayer. Sheldon has been an ER doctor, an ME and is now a CSI. The man has a head full of knowledge, pick a topic and likely he can give you something on it.

I move away from the child, Sheldon's expertise as an ME and a CSI can give us valuable insight on a case from the ground up. Things that may not be obvious to one or the other are apparently, plain as day to both in one person. I turn away as he gently examines the body, I know what the large and sharp thermometer in his hand is for, to take a liver temperature, there's no way to do that without pushing it through skin and flesh, and that I do not need to see.

I look around, but for some reason my eyes focus on the back of my own avalanche. Don has left the back door open, and he's placed my discarded shoes neatly in the back. With the absence of the kit that normally occupies the trunk they look tiny and insignificant. Rather like the boy Sheldon is examining. I give myself a mental shake, _not_ insignificant. That's the view of whoever put him here, my job is to make them review that.

…...

My heels click and clack against the floor as I make my way to the elevator. I realise I must look odd, a woman with her hair tied clumsily back, full make up , coveralls in police blue with 'CSI' emblazoned on them, carrying a silver kit case through the reception. That in itself is not so odd in this building, the fact that I have 4 inch bright red heels to top off the ensemble may be though. The desk guard gives me a swift smile, he's worked here a long time, and like us from the 34th floor, nothing seems to phase him any more.

The elevator opens on the lab's floor and I step out. As I knew there would be, a light burns from the boss's office. He's not on call, not even on the rota, yet there he is, head bowed reading something. You wouldn't think that he had a home to go to.

All chances at me sneaking anywhere to get changed are thwarted by the marble type floor and the heels. One step I take and Mac looks up immediately. I regard him for a second, a statue of calm and stillness in this world of movement and bustle that is the New York Crime Lab. Not that he's always like that, Mac can move fast when the situation dictates, and when he's mad, he's real mad. He becomes someone you fear to cross once you have seen it. Our eyes meet and I smile, he smiles back.

Another attractive man. Not in the classical Don Flack way, nor in the softer lines of Sheldon Hawkes way. In a way all of his own. He has eyes that, if I were a romance writer, I would say could penetrate the soul. He has permanent dark shadows under those eyes, they almost look bruised. Mac's thing is his smile, it is rare, and all the more special when it does happen. Under those rather stuffy shirts he also packs some muscles, I know, I've seen.

I click clack towards the locker rooms, trying not to notice the startled looks of the lab techs as they hear heels, and then the brief confusion as they see the assistant head of the lab wearing what I am. They are used to a lot of noises in here, but heels usually mean one of two things, someone official is here, or the press. Neither are welcomed with open arms.

…...

A snort comes from the AV suite and I look. Adam Ross sits at his station, on his throne. I say his throne as he's the king, the whizz kid, when it comes to anything technical. He is snorting at something on the screen. With his headphones firmly in place, he's the one person who can't hear my irritating advance. But he looks up anyway, and gives me a wave.

I wonder how someone so educated, who has experienced both personal and professional issues as he has, can maintain such a look of innocence. But he does. He has what would be termed a 'baby face' despite the beard he currently sports. He usually appears cheerful, but it's a front, a front for his natural shyness and anxiety. If you know where to look, Adam is actually a bundle of nerves.

He slips the ear phones off and grins at me, the same grin I could imagine he has had since he first smiled. I give a wave and return his smile.

"Waaadup?" he calls in greeting.

It's his catchphrase, he uses it as a question, a statement of his genius (which incidentally, Adam is the only person who doesn't think he is) and as a way of expressing his excitement or dismay at something. It's a good way to hide I have discovered. Adam can get a wealth of feeling into one word, and instantly, you know what that feeling is. It means he doesn't have to verbalise his thoughts. Neat trick.

…...

Heading into the locker room I meet my only female colleague coming back out again, Lindsay Messer Munroe. She's short, quite dainty, and as tough as hell. Lindsay looks like she couldn't harm anyone, piss her off and you find out differently pretty quick.

"Hey...Jo" she falters as she notices my foot attire "Nice shoes"

"Thank you" I accept with what I hope is good grace.

"Busy night?" she asks.

"Dead 5 year old dumped in a junkyard" I tell her as I head for my locker, undoing the coveralls.

"I take it you were somewhere else when the call came?" she asks.

I look at her, and realise that as she's here, and Adam is here, it must be morning. I got called to the junkyard at 1am, and here we are at the start of another working day again. Long night indeed.

"What gives it away?" I smile.

Lindsay laughs "Anything that needs my attention?" she offers.

"I have to go see Sid" I inform her, rifling through my locker, which is about as tidy as my office "But you can run through missing persons for him? Don entered his picture into the database. Adam should have the prints by now"

"Sure" she nods and leaves. Like me, she's a mother. Cases like this affect her as they affect me. Her husband too.

I rifle deeper, finally realising that I have no spare shoes. Jeans, a shirt and a jacket, finished with 4 inch red heels. Great. I briefly consider returning to the avalanche to get and clean my boots, and decide against it. At least the shoes will provide a talking point.

…...

I clatter my way into autopsy. Possibly one of my favourite people in the world looks up from the tiny body he is tending to.

He does the snappy thing with his glasses, and gives me a grim smile. Sid Hammerback, ME, has children too. I could fall in love with Sid a million times I have decided. But for some reason, I don't. The eccentric millionaire, the crazy scientist, he's amazing.

"What do you have for me?" I ask.

He flicks a look at my shoes and decides not to comment.

"I understand that this poor boy was dumped in a junkyard?" he asks solemnly.

"Yes" I reply "Do you have a cause of death?"

"Asphyxiation" he sighs "Brought on by _Anaphylaxis_ "

"An allergy?" I frown. And then straighten my face as my mothers words about frowns and wrinkles echo around my overworked brain.

"Yes" Sid holds up a small cup with a brownish liquid slopping within "I'll send this to the lab, but from experience and the appearance, I'd say a nut allergy, a severe one"

"Anything suspicious?" I prompt.

"Nothing apart from the fact he was dead and abandoned" Sid says almost savagely "He's was in good health, no signs of old or new trauma you wouldn't expect from a five year old. Sexual assault kit was negative"

"Small mercies" I mumble.

"Indeed" Sid replies, and I realised I have said it aloud and not in my head "It's for you to decide whether it was accidental or deliberate exposure"

"Wanna swap jobs?" I ask hopefully.

"No" Sid smiles and shakes his head.

"Shoes?" I ask with a laugh.

Sid returns my laugh "As pretty as they are" he replies "They won't go with my scrubs"

I shake my head ruefully and leave with the small pot. Danny should be in by now, he loves getting up close and personal with some stomach content.

…...

Danny, however, does not have the same reservations about shoe comments as my other colleagues. Maybe I now intimidate him because I can actually see right over the top of his head wearing them.

Oh who am I kidding? Danny likes to take the piss, and this is a perfect opportunity.

"Where's the Wizard Dorothy?" he quips as I tip tap my way into the trace lab.

"Funny" I regard him.

"I like to think so" he grins.

And that's the thing about Danny Messer, husband to Lindsay, best friend to Don, colleague and stalwart friend of everyone else. He has a father son type relationship with Mac, he has a deep love and respect for him. But he _is_ funny.

"I have some stomach contents for you" I give him my offering with a smile, he grimaces and then his face saddens.

"The kid in the junkyard?" he asks.

I nod.

"Damn" he mutters "Why do people think kids are expendable?!"

I look at his eyes. Such expressive eyes, and his mouth, at the moment with a downturn of the lips. Danny can have one of those smiles, a wicked, wicked grin that leaves you in _no_ doubt what he's thinking. He can change the atmosphere with that grin. But right now he's sad, and angry.

"They don't realise what they have" I reply "Call me when you know what it is? Sid has COD as Anaphylaxis from a nut allergy possibly"

Danny shakes his head "Poor kid"

…...

After a morning of phone tennis with Flack, and some more information about the official cause of death, my cell rings. I'm hoping it's someone with an ID for this little boy, so I can rip into the parents for not noticing his absence in the first place.

Further investigation has led to the conclusion that the child did indeed die from Anaphylaxis and that although deadly to him, the nuts were not forced into him. There is no evidence to suggest that the death was foul play, however the means of disposal and the fact no one appears to have missed him, really pisses me off.

Flack has kept an interest, although it's not a homicide, he likes to see cases through. Danny is back to making the lab tech's blush and laugh in equal quantity and Adam is doing his thing with his beloved computers on another case that Lindsay and Mac caught.

And so I answer my cell. Easing my sore feet out of these damned heels.

"Danville?"

After I quit the call the shoes go back on, and away I go again.

…...

Arriving at the junkyard for the second time in twenty four hours I see uni's holding back a distraught looking man, and a boy I recognise. Flack had been talking to him earlier.

The man is screaming and the boy crying. This time I don't have a knight with a shining badge to get my boots for me, I have to dive right out the avalanche and deciding the shoes are already ruined, totter my way towards them.

"I'm detective Danville" I offer "Can I help you?"

"My boy" the man wails "He's in there!"

"How old is your son?" I ask gently, though I know, I can tell by the facial features of the man and the child here that they are family.

"Almost 6" he sobs "He's been missing all night, Grey said they last saw him here" he flicks a look at the boy beside him "They were playing"

Half of me is furious, how could he not notice the absence of his child before now? The other half is devastated for him, he knows, he must do.

I hold out my phone, it's the best picture we have, but showing someone a picture of their dead kid...I can't explain it.

"Is this your son?" I ask gently.

The man breaks down, leaning heavily on the officer beside him, he nods.

I sigh. He explains in broken sentences that he is a single father, he had to leave his children overnight when the babysitter didn't arrive and work. To stay away would have cost him his job. He stutters that his older son, Grey had taken them both on an adventure. Grey had admitted that someone had given Lucas (finally a name for the little soul) peanuts, not knowing about his allergy. Grey hadn't thought to bring the epi pen that Lucas has for such emergencies, and by the time he had run home, collected it and run back, Lucas was dead. Surrounded by terrified children. They had hatched their plan and followed it through, until the boys father had gotten home from work.

I feel like crying, what a terrible situation. And not for the first time, I feel eternally grateful for the fact I have a career, not just a job. I don't have issues as this man does, issues that have cost him a child.

So that's me. Jo Danville, standing in the middle of a junkyard in my best 4 inch high heeled shoes. They'll be binned now, they'll always remind me of this awful day.


End file.
